


Unspoken

by dandelionwhiskey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Drunk Sex, M/M, Post-Stanford, Public Sex, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionwhiskey/pseuds/dandelionwhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: dean hasn't seen sam in 10 years since he left for stanford, but they happen to have a chance meeting at a bar, where they both decide to drink together, and have a rough hook up in the bathroom. (top!dean, bottom!sam??)</p><p>In which Sam and Dean have a lot to say, but not a lot is out loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unholyseraphs (oncharredwings)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncharredwings/gifts).



The lights are always too low in college bars, blacked out windows and dim neon beer signs casting orange-red shadows across the sallow faces of grad students drinking their stress away. The music is too loud but no one is dancing, all hips pressed against bars and leaning on pool tables, bones exhausted from hunching over desks and poring over textbooks. 

Dean likes the college bars around finals. Easiest to scam the kids out of their lunch money over a few games of pool, easiest to get a tipsy law student to suck on your neck. 

He’s making his way to the pool tables in the back of the bar, tucked up between the  _guys_  and  _gals_  bathroom doors. He’s picking up a pool cue and turning around to rile the guy at the next table when his fingers go weak.

Dean has been shocked by electricity before. He always describes it like an anvil getting dropped on his head, like a reverberation throughout his nerves that leaves him dizzy and numb. That’s how he feels now, eyes set on Sam’s.

They move closer tentatively, like to hug, but stutter to stops as their words fall over one another in greeting. There are steps back, awkward quiets, and Dean nods toward the bar with a shrug. Sam’s lips quirk the way they did before he bled Cardinal red and Dean’s numb fingers twitch. 

At the bar they knock back whiskey in a way to say  _sorry_  and  _hello_  and  _I might be kind of drunk_. They say other things too, mostly mumbled into their glasses or behind their hands. Sam says he lost his job because of a haunting and everyone thought he was nuts. Dean says he’s here on a lead.

They say some things with their eyes through flickering glances and drunken half-lidded gazing and a wink. 

After shot ten or eleven Dean has to piss and Sam’s hand is heavy over his on the bar top. He shakes it off and taps the bar for two more and taps out of the conversation. Sam was talking about  _jess_  and  _sarah_  and Dean is thinking about  _Sam_ and he has to walk away. 

He relieves himself into the trough behind the  _guys_  bathroom door, one hand postured on the wall, when Sam joins him. He’s quiet, but next to him, hip a breath away from Dean’s and his hand on his own dick. Dean’s washing his hands and Sam is locking the door and saying words like  _missed you_  and  _calling_  and  _never again_  and Dean swallows them up with his mouth.

Sam doesn’t bother being surprised and just kisses back, allows Dean to crowd him against the locked door and lick between his lips. Allows Dean to flip the button on his pants open and tongue a stripe up his palm and breathe into his ear. Lets him say all the things he wants to do and just moans, just spreads his legs, just takes it.

Dean came prepared to the bar, pocket full of safe sex, gender notwithstanding. The lube is already warm from sitting against his skin all night and Sam barely hisses when Dean’s fingers press along his ass. Their jeans are at their ankles and maybe someone is knocking at the door but Dean is turning Sam around and plastering himself against his back.

Sam is saying  _yes_  and Dean licks his ear, sucks on his neck, presses into him slow and protective but Sam huffs impatience against his forearm. Says something like  _been waiting_  and  _forever_  and  _jerk_  and Dean growls.

They fuck in the bathroom with graffiti on the walls telling their life story. 

Dean’s teeth are deep in Sam’s skin and he’s gripping his hips with a strength that screams his dissent, his ache of years lost between them. Sam’s whispering about needing this, pushing his hips back against each one of Dean’s thrusts and begging to be touched. 

It’s not right away, but eventually Dean gives in and wraps a hand around his cock, slick with lube and sweat, and jerks him off fast and rough while he fucks him into the wall. Sam makes a noise that ceases the knocking on the bathroom door and Dean is pulling out and turning him around, Dean is hiking Sam’s legs up and lifting. 

Dean’s never had someone up against the wall like this, but Sam feels feather-light through the whiskey and his ankles are crossed at the small of Dean’s back. His cock is easier to get at this way, less strain on his wrist, and he can see the flush up Sam’s neck to his ears.

He kisses Sam like this, while clinging to him and undulating into him, while Sam pants into his mouth and rides him. Dean doesn’t remember coming because Sam is so loud in his ear using words like  _please_  and  _thank you_  and Dean’s hand is wet and warm. 

When Sam’s feet hit the ground again, landing on their kicked-off pants, the cold hits Dean’s skin. He hikes his pants up and they’re quiet, the buzzing of adrenaline and anger and giddiness thick between them. Sam moves through it like molasses and wraps Dean up, kisses his cheek, his mouth. 

They wash up and leave without bothering to pay the tab. They both got nowhere to go and everything to talk about; fights to have, laughs and tears to share, and more of what they just did again, and again. 

The motel attached to the bar has a room with a king left and for the first time, Dean doesn’t care about the suggestive smirk from the innkeeper. They’re drunk enough that they sleep over the covers with legs tangled and whiskey-breath mingled. 

The morning brings quiet and silence but smiles that say  _again_  and wandering hands. It brings showers and toothpaste kisses and duffel bags packed with a week’s worth of clothes.

And it brings Sam sliding into the passenger seat of the Impala with a raised eyebrow that asks,  _where to?_

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on [tumblr!](http://dandelionwhiskey.tumblr.com/)


End file.
